


She, who held back the sky

by SonataForMyOverdosedLover



Series: And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more [10]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Violence, a story depicted in moments, also multiplayer characters will make an appearance because I adore them, but truth is rylen will get all the action in later chapters, rated M for future chapters, the road from Haven to Skyhold, this is part of the entire cullen/trevelyan story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonataForMyOverdosedLover/pseuds/SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The search for Skyhold was not an easy one; The Inquisition, barely standing and recovering from the attack at Haven had a long and treacherous road ahead. They all had faith in the chosen Herald to close the Breach in the sky, but during their blind search she became more than hope to those she guided through the mountains. She became their leader. The Trevelyan woman was not wise; she was impulsive and violent; she was not kind; she was made of steel; she was just and swift as the blades in her hands. As days passed Cullen knew what everyone in the Inquisition was thinking, and yet no one dared voice it: she may not be the Herald everyone wished upon, but there was no one better suited to resurrect the Inquisition from the ashes of Haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the damaged are more than their wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Uh boy, I hope I will manage to upload the entries at a regular pace. The chapters in this part will focus only on moments that take place between Haven and Skyhold because it was ridiculous how little is covered in one cut-scene. I think the days they spent looking for Skyhold hold essential answers to why everyone suddenly jumped to the conclusion that the Herald should also be the leader. And it should also say a lot about what sort of leader the Inquisition decides to have. I love writing a bit of struggles, with both funny and dreadful content. I love to create conflicts and layers. Also I had to fight with myself for a long time before writing Rylen. Seeing as he is Cullen's second in command I was afraid of complicating things or simply... being too much. But then it all goes back to what kind of character my inquisitor is. And I can't just strip away part of who she is or how she acts just for the safety and health of a future relationship so I am content to just let the characters have their way. They will figure it out on their own.

Inhuman. She was inhuman. The more she opposed the idea of a divine agent guiding her steps, the more she inspired faith to those that witnessed her strong will to survive. She had brought the mountains down and stepped out of the ordeal. He remembered the silence that devoured their camp that night after the survivors of Haven had settled out of danger. 

They were lost and no member of the Inquisition dared tell them that the Herald was left behind. They had barely pushed the last in the line out of the tunnels when they felt the ground shake under them. It was done. If they had any power left they would have fought over going back or taking the people to safety. The Inquisition was responsible for the souls of many so instead they went on, not wishing to lose another life. 

The camp bore the silence of a graveyard only disturbed by the pain of the wounded. Soldiers were running from one tent to another, providing the healers with what they needed. He would not forget that surreal moment. His ears were burning with the gravity of the chaos and yet it felt as if he could not hear a thing. He remembered seeing Cassandra freeze and her face paling. In the sea of moving bodies few would turn around and pay attention to one more wounded survivor. 

A shaken step, a thrust forward. Her left arm was limp at her side; there was blood running down her temple and the dark hair loose, sticking to her neck and past her shoulder. From the darkness, this body pushed its limits and moved further into the camp. Each step was followed by a longer moment of pause before she could gather the strength and advance. Slowly, more and more would stop in recognition but she would acknowledge no one, as if there was no world outside her efforts. In the light of the fire she must have gripped her senses and realized she had reached shelter. He watched the beaten body relax and fall in the snow.

They thought her dead. And the certainty of that thought was only replaced by distress at the sight of her body. It was only the moment Solas looked up at them to let them know she would live, that the camp had grown loud again. It made him realize it had been a sense of guilt that had rendered him useless until that moment. And after that, the fighting began. With a nightmare lifted off their shoulders they could focus on their immediate problems. 

He could not believe his eyes when the woman had stepped out of the tent in her condition and he could not believe his eyes now, as she was towering over the maps on the table, only hours away from her own death. Bruised jaw, her left shoulder was dislocated and her arm was kept to her chest with an improvised sling. He could only imagine how her torso was completely bound under the clothes. Her coat was only worn on one arm, the left sleeve hanging by her side, the collar brought up to protect her face from the cold. 

Yet her eyes were piercing and unforgiving. There was conviction and determination in them. Those were not the eyes of someone injured; he didn’t want to stare but he could not look away. She was a remarkable sight. 

She had returned to the camp with Solas, making everyone realize that they had not even noticed their absence. They had a plan; they spoke of a place where the Inquisition could relocate. She had left the mage to do the talking but when he would stop answering the questions she would take control. Those around the table would push for answers when it came to the apostate but no one dared to insist when the woman blocked their attempts. 

It was not a matter of how but of when. Not how Solas knew of it or how they would find it. It was the urgency of their condition that mattered to her. And Cullen was glad to have a second voice on his side. 

They were making plans, working with what they had. 

“How many agents do we have out there?”

“We still have secured positions on the Storm Coasts and Fallow Mire. I have not received word from the outpost in the Hinterlands but I am sure word of what happened here will reach them first.”

“I should send ravens to the agents we have in the field.”

“Not yet.” The woman finally dropped into the conversation. “There is no need to send them on the move while we have not yet cleared a path.”

He watched her flinch and yet she did not shift position. He knew pain. He recognized the strength in her legs as defense against the aches of her body. He knew from Cassandra that she specialized in dual blades, but she had the constitution of a warrior. It was the dynamics of her body that set her apart. He was not a stranger to the sort of physical effort she was putting up with just by standing. 

“We can’t risk sending any signals. Our disappearance in this chaos is the only advantage we have.” 

They were about to venture into unknown territory. She was ultimately right. They had to make their own path. His only concern was that none of this was based on any facts. There was the chance that they could be chasing ghosts. How was he going to motivate his men into this?

The talks went on and they had yet to agree on their first step. And for the most part she remained silent. The woman listened but she had fallen into her usual routine of scouting the maps with her eyes. 

Cassandra raised her voice and her eye twitched; her jaw clenched. She did not appreciate the fight. After a long time she lifted her head and her attention went around the camp. She had her own thoughts forging new plans.

“Commander, if I may…”

His second in command was present but he usually spoke only when questioned. For the first time he stepped into the conversation. 

“Speak, Rylen.”

“We have wounded with us; and there are elders; and children among the villagers we rescued. Not only will this road be difficult for them but it will make it twice as hard for us to move about.”

“Are you suggesting leaving them behind?” Leliana was revolted.

“Maker forbid, no! But we need to take them into consideration! It’s punishment for both sides to drag them into the mountains. We are not even certain where we are going.” 

“We do not have the necessary supplies, that is completely true. And the wounded…”

Some of them would not even make it through the night. Cassandra didn’t need to finish her sentence. Everyone was well aware. 

“What are our options?”

The man let out a not so dignified sound. Rylen was not shaped for politics or etiquette. He was a man of action and had no patience for in-betweens. The only reason he had been present at Haven during the attack was because Cullen trusted no one else in charge of the forces sent to close the breach. He was glad when the man had accepted his offer to join him and the Inquisition back in Kirkwall. 

“I’m no Ferelden. Maybe ask someone who knows these places better.”

“There’s a small village not far from here. It’s not the best option – it’s old and in a poor state, but what options do we have? Unless we cut down towards the Hinterlands there are no settlements near Haven.” Leliana pointed out on the map.

“That would be half a day of walk. And maybe less than half a day to get back on track.”

There was silence. It gave everyone a chance but the people gathered around the table felt like they were playing with the lives of those left behind.

Trevelyan moved for the first time from her place and it looked as if a statue had come to life. She took one step closer to the maps.

“We’ll move North-East;” She traced her gloved finger across the map. “through the rocky passage out of the mountains. There is another village there, right before the roads descend into the valley. It’s built around a watchtower. They added fortified walls during the Blight and still kept them after. It’s both safe and well provided. We can even trade with them.”

“That’s hardly an option. It takes us three days off course and three more back. And even if that would not have been an issue, we know what sort of people live in that village. When we first arrived with Divine Justinia they refused to provide supplies or shelter for those travelling to the Conclave. They shut the gates in the faces of our agents.”

At first it seemed as though the woman was not going to react to Leliana’s protest. But then she looked up from the maps and turned toward the tents.

“Look around you. These people lost their homes because of us. We left behind a graveyard under snow and rocks. There are fathers that are not coming back and sons and daughters who picked their every-day tools and made weapons out of them for us. We’re not going to just give them shelter.” Her low voice was turned into a dangerous hiss. “We can’t bring back their families but we’ll find them a home. Those villagers will open their gates. I am not giving them a choice.” 

With that she backed away. 

“I need rest. We should move out as fast as we are able to.”

She did not offer a chance for debate but there was no need. No one present felt the necessity to bring another argument. She had the courage to voice the guilt that probably all of them had chosen to ignore. 

Looking at the woman making her way to the tent, with her choppy walk but straight back, Cullen was staring to understand the resources of her strength. Out of the advisers, he had doubted her the most; disdainful, unpleasant, heathen. But maybe faith wasn’t what they needed. Maybe it didn’t matter what she believed in; her strength and will keeping her unmovable against their odds was enough to inspire faith in the people that could follow her. 

He allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts as he glanced at the unfolded maps. Maybe… it was something to discuss with the rest. 

***

The people at the gates greeted them with hostility. The village had fortified wooden walls all around, the slope of the mountain as a wall protecting their back. It was truly well-guarded but, if the walls would be broken through, it could easily turn into a death trap for those inside. 

There was only the wicket door opened, while the main gates were being kept shut. They had stopped at the entrance but the men by the walls refused to allow them access inside. 

Rylen had tried to explain the events from Haven but he was slowly losing his patience at the stubbornness of these people. It was as if they didn’t care for anything that was happening outside their walls. 

“We don’t take in outsiders. I can convince the townsfolk to offer some supplies for your injured but that’s all. And if you continue to push you won’t even see those.”

“Are you blind, man? Or are you simply an idiot? The only reason you are not swarmed by demons right now is because we stopped it.”

“That’s enough.” Cullen nodded at his second in command. They were looking for a solution, not another fight. 

“Some of our men won’t make it and more will probably die without a warm bed and proper attention. Who is in charge of the village?"

“Look, we’re not unaware of what’s happening. We saw the hole in the sky close; we know you people from Haven had something to do with it. And we owe you. But no, means no. We learnt our lessons the hard way during the Blight. You get what we offer or you keep moving.”

“Is this guy for real?” Rylen spit through his teeth. 

He felt a headache knocking at his temples. He did not need this now. Couldn’t Josephine just step in? Wasn’t this her job? Had anyone even considered calling her upfront? What if they would just break the gates and force them to take the people in? This was a ridiculous idea but in theory it was starting to sound good to him.

That’s when he felt another body pass right between him and his captain. He turned his head just to see the woman slip in line with them.

She looked up at the man on the wall and frowned. Her eyes scrutinized the walls and then she looked at the couple of villagers staring from the opened entrance. She went back to the same man. 

“You! Send for Gavin.”

The man froze, shocked at the direct request. Apparently the name meant something. He eyed the woman suspiciously and then he looked down, at someone from the other side. 

Cullen glanced her way. This he did not expect; he was willing to bet that neither were the men guarding the village. His eyes narrowed but before he could ask her anything someone else appeared on top of the walls. A bulky, bearded man climbed the ladder and approached the edge. In a way, he reminded Cullen of Blackwall. His small, hard eyes instantly fell on the woman in recognition. A snarl escaped his mouth as he slammed his big palms against the rail. 

“Maker’s bloody balls!” He spit on the ground. “Either you really have no fucking respect for the dead or you are royally screwed in the head.” The man grinned, showing his teeth. “If you wouldn’t look as if someone already beat the dirt out of you I would have gladly jumped down to break your arm myself.”

There was no expression on her face; if anything, Cullen could read a slight annoyance in her impassive voice.

“Duly noted. You’ve already been told that we have children and elders with us; tell your men to clear the entrance; you know I am going to get these people inside, so should we get to it or do you feel like chatting me up?”

For the longest time they stared at each other. Eventually the man let a low growl and shook his head.

“Open the gates.” It was a short bark as he unpinned himself from the edge. Before turning around to leave the walls he threw a look their way again.

“You’ll step in and take one of your men with you. No one sets a foot inside until I hear it from Bowen’s mouth.”

She rolled her eyes but an eyebrow arched expectantly as the gates started to unhinge. Instinctively she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Commander?” 

He nodded. 

The men on the walls started to clear the curious villagers gathered at the entrance. When the gates were fully opened he followed her inside. 

They reached the man whose name he had learnt was Gavin. For a moment he thought he would not move and instinctively checked for his sword. Judging by the glares he was throwing to the Trevelyan noble, tension was not just his imagination. But eventually, when she stopped near him, towering by half a head over the man, he gave one more displeased snarl and turned, instructing them to follow. 

‘Not welcomed’ was an understatement. The villagers gathered by the road were pinning them down with hateful looks. He needed to be careful. He felt as if at one point one of them could just grab a rock and throw it their way. He was convinced that they were not kind or used to visitors at all, but it was clearly more than that. He looked at the woman by his side.

“You’ve been here before.”

“Yes.” The answer came out dryly. 

“They don’t seem very fond of our presence. Of _your_ presence in particular.” 

His sentence made her glance away from the back of their guide for the first time to look around. Her eyes fell on the ground for a moment and her head shook lightly.

“That’s common reaction towards someone who burnt half of their village.”

“What?” He instantly hissed, clearly too loud as the man in front of them threw a despising look over his shoulder. He felt the ground disappear from under his feet and could not strategize the horrible situation in which he, along with the entire Inquisition, were thrown into. 

The woman said nothing.

“And you considered coming here a wise option?” 

“I considered it _an_ option.”

But their whispered conversation was cut when their guide stopped in front of a house. He signaled them to wait while he stepped on the porch. Facing them he knocked heavily at the door and waited. His hand hung by the belt and his eyes did not leave Trevelyan for a moment.

Then the door opened and out stepped a woman, with a petite constitution but sharp, hardened features. She was wiping her hands on the worn out apron.

“We have visitors.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned her attention to them for the first time. When her eyes fell on the woman to his left he had a feeling of deja-vu as the wrinkles on her face became more prominent, accompanied by a spiteful hiss. 

“You have a lot of nerve to show your face here again.”

Cullen watched as the silence with which she treated the woman only added more tension. When it was clear to everyone that she would not answer, she turned to Gavin. “Why’d’ya even let her set foot in the village?”

“Not our decision to make so go grab Bowen…”

Reluctantly she eventually followed the man’s words but not without glaring at them one more time.

The moments that followed were spent in silence. The woman moved from her spot for the first time. She adjusted the sling around her neck and grabbed the empty sleeve, bending it inside the opened coat. She looked around the village and while her body remained tensed her eyes slightly softened.

“Care to give more explanations on what is happening?” He glanced back towards the gates where they left the convoy. Rylen was just outside, sizing up one of the villagers. Cullen really hoped he would not fling his fist in the man’s nose because clearly they were in no position to display authority. With renewed annoyance he turned to the woman next to him.

“I’m waiting.” 

“We need to talk to Bowen; he’s the elder of the village. They don’t have a mayor but they will listen to him. All we need to do is convince him ” Her eyes met his. “I can handle this.” 

But this was not what he wanted to hear. It was not an assurance he wanted from the woman but an explanation. 

Her eyes skipped away and her attention was back on the wooden door. The woman returned, helping an old, weary man out on the porch and past the stairs. In the light of the sun Cullen could see past his white hair and gaunt figure. He instantly realized what had him holding his breath. The man’s eyes were almost completely white, his irises covered by thick cuticles. The woman whispered something in his ear before releasing his arm. 

He felt the Trevelyan tense even more near him as the man was slowly making his way to them. He considered helping him out but the herald made no move and something in this scene kept him grounded to his spot. 

He stopped in front of them and waved at the woman to bend to his level. She followed his instructions and both his hands started to map her face, his fingers finding every angle of her features. 

Eventually, an unexpectedly strong voice left the man’s throat. 

“Ah, life is a funny thing. Good to see you’ve ridden yourself of youthful anger.”

She straightened her back and shamelessly stared at him. A huffed, short laughter escaped her parted lips and just for a moment there was a peaceful smile on her lips.

“The years have not been kind to you. Does the sun still reach your eyes?”

A grunt left his throat. 

“Don’t be rude, girl. After a certain age we are all slowly going to our graves. The day my sight will leave me for good will be the day I won’t get up from the bed.”

As if sensing his presence for the first time, the old man turned his attention to Cullen. He felt his foggy eyes on him and he could not believe that there was any sight left. And yet…

The man raised his arm at him and instinctively Cullen glanced at the woman. She nodded and he took one step closer, allowing the man to perform the same ritual. His palms were cold and calloused and there was a gentle tremble in his fingers. 

“He’s with you?” 

The woman spared a fugitive grin.

“More like I am with him. He’s the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. I… work for him.”

“He could be the Empress’s personal ass wiper, for all I care; titles mean nothing in my village.”

Her lips twisted in an effort to hide her amusement. His fingers went further down and followed his jawline. 

“This one’s watching over you as well?”

Her smile dropped.

“In a way.”

Finally his hands left his face, the man satisfied now by his research.

“Huh… as if that did a lot of good last time. At least this one’s a man and not a fair-faced boy. He looks like he can at least try and put up a fight.”

The woman looked away and Cullen tried to get as much information as possible from the conversation. 

“The reason why we’re here, old man?” it sounded as if she was demanding a change of subject. 

“Of course…”

The man set space between them and started to walk at a slow pace. They followed. 

“It’s no coincidence that the Breach closes with an explosion and shortly after travelers stop at our gates. It is even less of a coincidence that the mountains shook under our feet and here you are.”

“It’s a coincidence.” She said displeased. 

The man huffed. “What is it that you want?”

“We have villagers from Haven; children, old people. The village was attacked and we have wounded with us. We plan on moving through the mountains and we can’t take them with us.”

“You know very well we don’t accept outsiders. And you are well aware of the reasons.”

“Haven was destroyed. These people need a home. Most of the villagers have decided to come with us but we can’t risk the lives of those that can’t put up with the journey.” 

The man came to a stop and they had to do the same. His head was lowered and they could not see much past his bushy eyebrows. His teeth ground while he remained silent, with his thoughts.

“How many?”

Her eyes darted at Cullen.

“About a dozen? Haven was a small village... and even fewer survived.” It pained him to admit it, and her words at camp came back to haunt him. They were responsible for all of this. “And about 13 of our men. We have more wounded but most of them will make it with what we have.”

“This is not a small request.”

“It will make us even.” she cut mercilessly. She was not going to let this conversation turn.

The old man lifted his head and looked their way.

“On one condition. The men you leave behind; they will remain in our village and offer protection.”

Before Cullen could say anything the words left her mouth.

“Very well.”

“What? No!” He eyed the woman instantly. “That was not part of the deal.”

“Huh… it seems that there are some issues that you need to discuss with your patron.”

“He’s the commander of the Inquisition, not my pat-“ the woman exhaled irritated and Cullen felt a bit out of place but not enough to distract him from the situation. She looked at him. “What choice do we have? We both know not all of them will make it and if we take them with us they are all going to die on the road.” She took a step closer to him continuing in a whisper, not bothered at all that the man was still there, with them. “Those that survive can look over the villagers we brought in; and we can still keep an active reach in the area as well.”

In truth he was not against the idea itself. What bothered him was that it was never mentioned before, nor discussed. It was rushed and forced upon him. What really annoyed him was that this was not the first time the woman had pushed him to the edge of an action and compelled him to jump.

“We will talk about this later with the rest.”

A nod was the only answer he received before they turned back to the man.

“What will it be?”

“We agree to your terms.” He silenced her with his intervention. She clearly didn’t appreciate that but she had already done enough. 

A crooked smile appeared on the elder’s lips and his next words were spoken loud enough to reach those near them.

“Gavin, tell the men to help carry the wounded and find rooms for the people we’re taking in.”

The old woman who until then stood silent by the porch made an attempt to protest.

“Bowen, you can’t seriously consider – ”

“The decision has been taken; those people need shelter and we have a debt to pay.”

The voice went dangerously low as the man finished his sentence and an unpleasant chill went down Cullen’s spine.

He excused himself and made his way to the gates, to his men, to deliver the news and instructions.

Rylen started organizing immediately. As he returned to the gates they watched the agents bringing forth injured on the improvised barrows. For a moment he stopped near Cullen and let out a short whistle. 

“The Herald really works miracles. Paint me a believer.” There was a nuance of sarcasm in the man’s voice but he was genuinely impressed. Cullen, on the other hand remained silent, but he was starting to finally grasp how her miracles worked. At this point he would have not been surprised to find out that the woman had actually bargained her way out of the Fade through some shady means.

He moved away, back into the village to ensure that the refugees were getting the necessary care. He could not let the villagers do their work so he sent soldiers inside to help with what was needed. 

At times his eyes would skip back to the woman. She had remained by the old man’s side, her back against the wall of a house and her head lowered. They were talking with her occasionally shaking her head and he could not stop from wandering over the words they were exchanging. 

The more he advanced in the village, the more visible the changes caused by the fire became. He was looking for them in all honesty and he wondered if his mind would have made the connections without knowing of the story. There was a portion in the back of the village where the protective walls were made from a different type of wood, better preserved than the rest. There were new houses built in the far East and there were rocks touched by fire. He was starting to get used to the way the villagers were looking at them and for most of the time he was pushing it to the back of his mind. He looked up from two of his men carrying a wounded down the path, and he caught sight of a little girl hiding behind a house, peeking past the corner. He followed her eyes and found that her attention was on the Herald and the old man. He glanced back at the girl only to find her staring directly at him. For a moment his heart stopped. A sensation of nausea took over and before he could understand why, the girl darted around and disappeared behind the house. 

He swallowed hard and too late he realized the reason for his reactions. He looked around before advancing toward the house. His jaw was clenched and his body protested with every step. And yet he moved forward. When he reached the corner and found the space empty his body relaxed and subconsciously he felt at ease. Deciding that it was for the best he turned around only to freeze in place. The girl had not been a figment of his imagination and neither were the horrible scars on her face. She was barely reaching his waist and two round orbs were looking up at him, piercing through the scorched skin. There was only her chin and right check as proof of her pale complexion, the rest of her face covered in burns. When she frowned the lack of eyebrows made the sight even harder to bear. 

He wished he could say something but they shared the silence. 

“You brought _Firebreather_?”

Her voice took him by surprise and the question itself made no sense in that moment.

“What?”

Her frown deepened and she stole a worried glance past him.

“The Firebreather! You brought her ba-”

“Elena!” A woman’s voice thundered from behind and the little girl was startled. “Get back in the house, girl.”

Before sprinting past him her eyes met his again. 

“You’re no help.”

He turned to see her run past the opened door of the house. The woman stared at him.

“I am sorry she bothered you, sir.”

“No bother...” the words found their way automatically. 

But the woman’s concern was purely out of politeness. The way she looked at him clearly let him know he was unwelcomed. “Your men are the other way in case you got lost.”

With that she turned and slammed the door after her. Cullen stood there for a while before he made his way back to the main road. He could understand the reasons why they were not welcomed. And yet, if this much damage had been caused, why would they open the gates at her command? He stepped on the road and while glancing at the Herald, the girl’s words were making more sense: _firebreather_ … stories were never simple, were they? There were as many versions of the stories as there were witnesses. 

He tried to push his attention back to their work so that they could be on their way. After things were settled, the woman must have felt it was time to retreat. She accompanied the man and they met Cullen at the crossroads in the village. 

Rylen went past them and nodded his way, letting him know the Inquisition was ready to take its leave. Cullen looked at the elder and instinctively bowed shortly. 

“Thank you for your help.”

The man nodded. 

“A debt is a debt. We simply honored it. Consider us even now, girl.”

“We are.” She simply looked down the road. 

“It is a peculiar way to waste a favour for people who are but strangers to you.”

The woman had no patience. It was clear that she wanted to be away from this place.

“Anything else, old man?"

He let out a long sigh.

“I hope this means you will not set foot here again. As of today we owe you nothing anymore.” 

She nodded and Cullen wondered if the man was aware of it. He watched her prepare a question but he beat her to it.

“Do not worry, child. They are part of our villagers and will be treated as such. This is now home for the survivors. We are well aware that if the demons stopped dropping from the sky we have the Inquisition to thank.” 

For a moment she looked up at Cullen and her eyes asked for them to depart. 

“We shall be on our way.” he interjected and she turned her head to the road not to award him with the relief written on her face. 

The old man nodded his goodbye in return and both of them started to make their way to the gates. 

“No farewells?”

“Does it look to you as if they are wanted?”

He contemplated the woman’s words. 

They had almost reached the gates when a high pitched voice made them stop in their tracks.

“Firebreather!”

She froze and spun on her heels. The little girl he had met sprinted to them, her chest going up and down in a mad rhythm before she calmed to speak again. Cullen saw the woman from earlier running after her and grabbing her arm, trying to pull her away.

“Elena, don’t do that! Come on child.”

“No, wait!”

“Stop that nonsense, she doesn’t even remember you; stop being stubborn.”

She started to drag her away but Trevelyan took a step forward.

“You were in the stables… were caught under the burning wrecks when I found you.”

The grip on her arm went limp, allowing the girl to free herself. She returned to them and simply stared at her.

The older woman hanged her arms across her chest and let out a long sigh, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with any of the two while speaking up.

“Her eyesight is not that great because of the incident.”

The noble was almost petrified while taking in the state in which the girl was. For a moment Cullen thought that she was going to turn around and simply leave. Her eyebrows furrowed and he saw her losing her internal battle right there. Eventually she bent forward to be at the same eye level with the child.

The girl held her breath and studied her face for a long time.

He knew he should look away as it was not a matter of his concern but he simply couldn’t. He wondered what was going on in the woman’s head. 

“You have scars too.” The girl’s words were almost breathed in. She was looking at the scar crossing her lips but kept her arms close to her body, hands hidden in the folds of her ragged dress.

“I do… quite a few.”

Then her tone changed.

“You brought new people here.”

“I did.”

“Did their village burn too?”

“Yes.”

The more monosyllabic the woman’s answers were the faster the girl was assaulting her with question. It was painful to watch and Cullen wished he could push the woman into engaging in a conversation with more words. 

“Did you step through fire to save them too?”

And there was no answer. The woman tensed.

“I-ah…” she paused “I am afraid it was less heroic.” 

“Oh…”

 _Was it_ , the man ended up asking himself. For whatever reasons, she had stayed behind, buying everyone the time they needed. 

There was silence. 

“You’re scary.” 

The herald huffed for the first time a faint laughter. 

“I’m scary too.”

He felt as if he had taken a blow to his chest.

The woman looked down and was ready to get herself up. She had no words to that.

“You’re not coming back, are you?”

Her eyes went past her shoulder, looking at the old man. Slowly her attention returned to the girl.

“No, I am not.”

Her small hands suddenly went up and before Trevelyan could grab them and stop the sudden movement, the girl had found her way to her hair and pinned a white, small, mountain flower behind her ear. 

The woman was stunned for a moment but the girl pulled her hands away victorious. 

“Less scary.”

She stared at the girl in front of her and opened her mouth. She tried again but nothing came out. Instead her gloved hand cupped the little one’s cheek and her plum lips gently pushed against her forehead, remaining there for the longest moment.

She got herself up and turned without a single word, strutting to the point of trying hard not to break into full run. 

Cullen stole one more glance at the girl and watched the old woman get closer to her and rest both her hands on her shoulders.

The only thing left for him to do was to nod before leaving. What worlds could he have spared without feeling insufficient?

He was greeted by Rylen at the gates, who had been waiting for his command to depart. He confronted the man and his eyes started to search for the woman. She was far ahead, in a group close to Bull’s Chargers, furiously unfastening the bindings from around her neck and freeing her arm. 

There was no point in lingering. His eyes fell on the snowy road and caught sight of the discarded flower. For a moment he considered picking it up out of instinct but he stopped himself. What was the point? His arm went up instead as he kneaded the back of his neck in a comforting gesture. Acceptance was a not an easy step to reach. He should know and he could not judge her no matter how heartless her reactions could seem. It was in the way her body tensed, the way her eye longed for the road ahead of them, the avoidance in looking directly at the consequences of her actions; it was in the way she could barely stop herself from running from all of this; he dwelt on his own mistakes and related to her struggles. 

He was a stranger to her past, but he recognized the battle against guilt in the way she carried herself away from the place. She had no clean hands; that much she had admitted herself back in Haven. He didn't share that information with the rest and each day he was troubled by it. Until this day he couldn't justify why he had kept this just to himself. He needed proof, besides her words; and now that he had it... Cassandra had offered him a chance in spite of his past; in spite of the thin line he was currently walking. He needed to find out if the woman could be much more than her mistakes. It was a move he was taking without much thought and he hoped it was not just selfish, wishful thinking on his part. She disrespected everything she meant for the Inquisition and for those who had faith in them, and yet there she was, leading them. He wondered if she was aware of it. He knew for a fact that Josephine had started to nourish a blind faith in the woman since the night she had beaten death for the second time and returned to them. He recognized a victory from the ashes of Haven. The Inquisition could no longer function the same way. He was not blind to the most obvious outcome. There was a strange, dormant thrill that sent chills down his spine. And yet he recognized conflict; he had witnessed the rule of cold and calculated leaders; he was chained for life to the consequences of his silence under their orders. He would not see that happen again. He truly wished to be proven wrong. More than anything he needed to be proven wrong. He needed to be shown that damaged people were more than their wounds.


	2. How many Inquisition recruits does it take to take out one pike?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His name rolling off her tongue made him feel naked. He could not remember the last time someone had addressed him without adding a title – recruit, templar, knight-captain, commander_.

The requisition carts were pulled up the narrow rocky path. Their convoy was spread for over a mile. When the decision to cross the first line of mountains was taken there had been no turning back. They could not stay grouped so they formed thinner lines to cover the distance through the mountains. The higher they reached the more difficulties the ground provided. They could have made a detour around the tops but if they were right, the road would take them in a low valley with less austere conditions where they could regroup and gather their strength. Past that point they had only one way to go: up. And it was going to be a trial of resistance. That was why they were currently betting on their strength. It was still the beginning and they had to make the most of it.

Cullen looked up. He guided himself after the tanking force sent forward. The path they were creating was getting narrower up ahead. Barely out of the thick woods, a winding slope awaited upfront. When the road took a left turn up the slope he was glad he could see the soldiers at the beginning of the line. They had a couple of alchemists with explosives sent with the warriors in case the two drufallos were not enough to clear the obstacles. The Bull was ahead as well with his Chargers, among most of his men. The herald was with them, walking dangerously close to the edge of the slope. She'd occasionally look to her right to check on those following.

Her recovery was impressive, making him consider the possibility of her pushing her limits. Once the bandages were off she had started to dress her arm back normally in the sleeve of her coat. From time to time he caught sight of her applying pressure with her right hand on the upper arm. It was still bothering her. She had refused any help from the healers, only asking for some attention from the apostate. He was not as trained as some of the mages they had in treating the wounds but the woman wouldn't have it any other way.

He stopped, allowing Rylen to pass him by. The man wouldn’t rest. He kept marching ahead and back, making sure that communication was still ensured and no incident would make things harder for them. He must have walked almost double than anyone there, save for the scouts sent from one end of the convoy to the other. Cullen suggested placing his men between groups but he refused, telling him that he was from The Marches. He'd put his family to shame if he were to let a Ferelden mountain wear him off.

He looked back before stepping up the slope. Most of their supplies were in the line behind him. Cassandra was with them, keeping the carts and the agents in check. The requisition wagons were at the back, just rolling in sight from the woods. He knew somewhere after them were the archers and mages, closing the convoy and keeping safe the civilians and clerics that had joined them.

Their formation was not ideal but it was the safest. He glanced up ahead. One of the soldiers kicked a dead log down the slope and with it, it took rocks down in its fall, reaching the caravans at the bottom. Some of the rocks and snow fell in a cart and the man holding the reins looked up swearing at the poor idiot. He was about to retort and yell back, the two clearly knowing each other, but Rylen slapped him over the head, silencing the man. The crest was abrupt above their heads from the left and they didn't want to take any risks with the heavy snow coming down.

His second in command trotted heavily back down the path. He watched him go to a couple of templars, exchange words and continue. He reached the herald who was in a conversation with Krem, the Charger's lieutenant. The man nodded shortly as he slipped past them. He knew that the two must have said something because as he marched down the path his gait became more relaxed and he shook his head, a wide grin on his face.

Cullen waited for the Starkhaven ex-templar to reach him and he knew he was intending to report. The man stopped as predicted and fell into step. He pulled the scarf loosely from his neck and wiped a palm of sweat from his nape.

“The news up ahead is not that grand; we'll probably have space to move about one cart at a time when we reach the gorge and that's gonna slow us down quite a bit. But they are in an awful good mood up there so at least we have that.”

“Unless they will bring the mountain on us I think you can loosen up. It's the first time their mood changed after Haven. What are they talking about there?”

Rylen let out a short laughter. “I doubt you'd want to know, commander. Things to keep themselves warm.”

Cullen smiled at the answer. Obviously.

Their walk was interrupted by an ear piercing yell echoing through the mountain. They froze and it took them a moment to realize that it was coming from behind, from the base of the slope. It was soon followed by new voices and shouts and by the time they turned, chaos had already been unleashed. Some of the horses had panicked and left the formation, making it hard to locate the source of the problems at first. Then Cullen saw it. A giant grey bear was advancing through their lines. Panic gripped him and everyone who was watching in horror as the beast charged through the people at the base of the mountain path.

“Rylen, line our men to break through back down. NOW!!!”

The animal thrust forward and grabbed one of the soldiers in its teeth, shredding through the cloths and skin. He recognized Cassandra's thundering voice somewhere below. Cullen scanned the men on his side. There was no way the soldiers would reach the scene in time, and yet Rylen pushed them harder. He cursed. They needed range attackers and all their mages and archers were nowhere in sight.

They had only a few scattered across the path.

“Archers, form a front line! Throw everything you have!” He felt powerless.

All he could do was watch with distress as Cassandra charged at the animal with her shield and sword. It was just enough to enrage it. She barely stood her ground when the bear let go of the man in its mouth to attacked again.

“Back away!” She yelled at the people nearby. A couple of soldiers formed a barrier, trying to shelter and grab the wounded but the animal rose on its legs and clawed through them. In the last moment the Seeker bashed to the side of its face and blocked its attack by barging her shield in its mouth. Two of the soldiers were caught under as Cassandra kept the beast’s mouth wide opened.

“Get them away from here” she barked an order through clenched teeth.

Arrows hit the animal but they did not stop its attacks. As the men were dragged away the shield started to give in under the pressure, bending.

He froze when he saw the awkward position of the Seeker's arm. It was trapped in the twisted metal of the shield. 

He felt the archers tense again for an attack. They were waiting for his signal. His hand was clenched on the hilt of his sword. _Rylen would not make it in time_ he kept repeating himself.

“Aim for the head!” He felt the arrows fly and for a time he didn't register everything. He only saw with the corner of his eyes rocks roll down the slope and it took him a second check to realize that a human body was skipping through them. He watched petrified as the herald was sliding vertiginously through the sharp edges of the mountain. Her long legs hit a cliff and she jumped in momentum over the falling rocks. Hitting the edge again, she killed the speed with her left side, using her forearm as a break.  
When she reached the ground she rolled away in the snow as far as she could to avoid the following rocks. The woman rose in a cursive gesture, her body never stopping as she broke in full speed. Running past a fallen cart she grabbed a metal pole and skipped through the convoy towards Cassandra. Coming from behind the beast she clenched her fist in its fur and pulled forcefully, hurling herself up, on her feet on top of the animal. The grey bear felt the heavy presence and left a roaring growl, unable to free itself from the shield piercing its mouth. It took two steps back and prepared to rise to throw the woman off balance. Cassandra let out a sharp exhale of pain. But before the large animal could do any more damage the woman was right above its head, feet planted in its shoulder blades and arms up, above her. The air was filled with a thundering war cry that left the woman's lungs and the pike came down, piercing the animal's skull and disappearing almost halfway in. The scene died in complete silence. The animal had no time to shriek in pain, falling completely lifeless to the ground.

Cullen wasted not another moment. He let the men at ease and shoved most of them out of his way.

Rylen reached the scene and ordered two of his men to aid Cassandra free her arm from the destroyed shield.

The woman stood still for a while, her arms still gripping the pole, forehead against the cold metal, catching her breath.

The commotion must have reached the party still in the back as those nearby were speeding up to see what had happened.

The herald eventually let go of her support and jumped to the ground. Cullen would have gone straight to them but he needed to organize those still capable of gathering the scared animals and report the damages.

The Trevelyan finally looked up to meet Cassandra’s eyes. She nodded her silent question and glanced at the seeker's arm.

“Thank you. I'll be fine.” She tried to twist her wrist and knead her arm. “Doesn’t look broken.”

“That was way too risky, Cassandra.”

“And what would you have had me do? Sit and watch this thing make short work of our people?”

“Getting yourself killed instead doesn’t sound like a sound alternative either.”

“What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.” Cassandra actually let out a joke and it was answered with tempered grin.

“How did this animal break through our lines unnoticed? I thought we had scouts in charge of the area.” Cullen finally made his way to them.

“It came out of nowhere. I was here with them and I was still not able to see it until it was too late.”

Rylen stationed near them, taking in the size of the animal.

“This is a monster.” He shook his head. “Should we regroup? We took quite a blow. Maybe we should reconsider this and make a stop before crossing the mountain chain.”

“No. Bears like this don't hunt on paths and they certainly don't venture this much outside their territory.” The woman took a few steps and tried to pierce the dark woods with her gaze. “Something must have driven her this far, and whatever makes an animal this size leave its usual hunting ground can only mean bad news. We need to push forward – we can't risk the dark finding us on this side of the mountains.”

Rylen instantly looked at Culln, awaiting orders. In exchange he glanced at the Seeker. She would not admit it but she was in pain. Her patience was too short to make decisions.

“Gather the men. We'll leave a group behind to clean the area and guide the rest up. I don't need curiosity to slow us down. Rylen, you'll take charge here."

The man nodded.

“We'll take the wounded with us. When the mages are here send some healers ahead.”

“I'm staying back as well.”

He turned towards the noble.

“There is no need to. Our men can handle it.”

She side-eyed him as if he had just insulted her.

“Who said I'm staying to help? I need to catch my breath and have Solas look at my wounds.”

The woman turned around and left the group without a word. Cullen felt guilt grip him. Seeing her previous display had left those present in awe and he had completely forgotten that Haven had been just days away, her body not even fully healed. Her rescue played a number on their minds and Cassandra seemed to be the only one not particularly impressed. He had little time to think of the woman’s almost suicidal slide down the mountain. His attention was needed on the consequences of the attack. By the time they were ready to move again he saw some of his men gathered around the dead animal. Two were by its side with ropes and one on top.

“What are you doing?”

“We're taking this thing with us, Sir. Meat and fur. Also wherever we're going its head will make a nice trophy. The bloody creature took down some of our friends and more of us would be dead if not for the Herald.”

Cullen considered their words. The animal was heavy but it was their right. He'd been not long ago one of them, of the many on the front line. He knew what losing a brother in arms felt like. When they spoke of the woman their voice was filled with bitter satisfaction. He knew then and there that what they had witnessed had seeded respect for her.

The man saddled on the animal got up and started to pull at the pole.

“Also Rylen ordered us to bring the pike back.”

The man pulled and he watched his fists clench and his face redden. The metal pole didn't flinch. He almost stumbled backwards.

“Andraste's tits! This thing is stuck.”

The two men on the ground made fun of him but Cullen furrowed his eyebrows. He remembered the woman's roar when she had thrust the pike into the animal's head. It was low and liberating. It was as if her strike came from her lungs. He watched as a second man climbed over and they were both pulling. If it had moved he could not say from where he stood, but he was going to bet it hadn't, judging by their troubled faces.

It must have gone right through the skull. He could not grasp the sort of strength one must have to accomplish such a thing. He could have credited Bull for something like this, but a human? And in only one strike? The area was almost clean now. He caught sight of the woman seated far away on a rock, facing the other way. That sort of strength was inhuman. He wondered if it could be a result of the mark, the same way he was starting to attribute her fast recovery to the magic of the Anchor.

It was time to go. Before taking his leave he made his way to the woman. As he approached her he noticed that she had her legs up, crossed and her arms resting on each of her thighs.

He considered making his presence known before reaching her but his words got caught in his throat when he noticed the constant trembling of her arms. The effort must have broken her control.

He stopped. Was she aware of his presence?

“You shouldn't stay behind. We'll have healers sent up to check on the wounded.”

The woman didn't answer. He had been right in assuming that she felt him approach. The troubling part was that she was set on ignoring him. He sighed and couldn't help but feel like an awkward fool. The only thing that kept him from turning around and taking his misplaced concern with him was the uncontrollable shake in her arms. For whatever reason, he stood there, only looking down once more at the woman before relaxing his eyes between the old trunks of the trees at the edge of the forest. He should get going, he repeated to himself as the woman continued to keep her eyes closed. He just wanted to make sure she was alright, as stupid as that sounded in his head. He justified his concern by stressing that she was the Herald and her wellbeing was a collective concern for everyone.

Suddenly the tremor died; her back relaxed and her eyelids parted slightly. It almost startled him when her head darted to him, wide citrine eyes pinning him down. In those bleak colors of the mountain it felt as if he was staring at two glowing gems and the expression on her face told him everything; she had not felt his presence, she had not heard him talk. The woman was in shock at finding out she had not been alone. It was as if she had just broken from a trance, aware again of her surroundings.

Slowly she turned her head. She didn’t ask him anything. There was a sharp shake of her left arm and she gripped her wrist with the other hand.

“What you did-”

“Was stupid.” She closed her eyes and breathed in. The shaking stopped again. “I overdid it; it’s just the muscles. Solas can calm the nerves and it will be fine.” The woman let her legs fall to the ground and got up. “This bloody mark is just making it worse.”

“Huh, I was actually thinking that the power of the mark helped.” He looked over his shoulder. “I have two men embarrassing themselves while trying to undo your work.”

She glanced at the scene and winced.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t need that anymore.”

“I think it’s one of the pikes we use on the main tent.”

They both watched in silence as the third man pulled out his sword and joined the two in an attempt to unstuck the metallic pole. Cullen furrowed his eyebrows. How hard could it be to get that blasted thing out?

The woman cleared her throat and looked away.

“Is there something you needed, Commander?”

He glanced back at her. “Just wanted to make sure everything is fine. Maker only knows how many lives we could have lost if it wasn’t for you and Seeker Pentaghast.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her short, solemn nod made a chortle escape his lips. At the sound her eyes were back on him with a stern expression.

“What is it that amuses you?”

The more serious she looked, the harder it was for him to keep a straight face. He’d interacted with lots of people in his lifetime, and yet he had never met someone as straightforward and confident as her. She was well aware of her force and did not take a compliment as flattery. 

“Nothing important. Just a though. I should catch up with the chargers ahead before I start doubting the skills of our soldiers.” He chose to answer while slightly nodding towards the three recruits. At least they were persistent.

The woman stepped away and was about to reclaim her place on the cold stone.

“You are a very confusing man, Rutherford.” Her legs went up, the same way as before as her eyes closed again. “Don’t expect people to understand you if you don’t speak your mind.”

For a moment he didn’t move. Hearing his name stripped of the usual title was a surprise. Most people would only address him with ‘commander’ or ‘commander Cullen’ and he was used to it because it was stating his purpose. The name rolling off her tongue made him feel naked. He could not remember the last time someone had addressed him without adding a title – _recruit, templar, knight-captain, commander_.  
He turned around and steadily made his way back to the path. His title had become part of who he was. What would his simple name makes of him? Why should he care? Thinking of a possible purpose for something else, outside the Inquisition, for something personal, was not an option he could dare think of in his current state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling the future chapters will have more humour than I have initially panned. I know for sure that the next one will have a healthy doze of dialogue and will be a bit longer than this. Any feedback, commentary or ideas are more than welcome! Let me know what you think or what you'd expect to see ;)  
> Cheers!


	3. nothing holy about her lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack on the road, the Inquisition has camped for the night. Small chats and inappropriate jokes are at times just what they need to push the grief away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I simply love writing Rylen! Especially his interactions with Cullen. There is a sense of camaraderie between the two that is just so fun to put into words. As a bit of a warning, there's a lot of dialogue ahead that contains some inappropriate sense of humour and well placed innuendos. Enjoy!

They managed to find a good place to set up camp not a moment too soon, before night came. The next day they would reach the valley where they could scout for some supplies. They had salvaged little from Haven but food had been the least of their concern back then. The narrow path through the mountains had worn everyone out. They had finally regrouped and had the chance to count the damages suffered that day. Few wounded after the attack but only one casualty. The poor unlucky lad who got grabbed by the bear on its first attack had stood no chance. The healers tried their best but couldn’t stop the bleeding. With the Maker’s mercy Cassandra had no broken bones. She was not thrilled at all that she was not going to be able to use her left arm for a while but he knew the Seeker well enough to read the relief through her façade.

The last to reach the camp was the small group they left behind. The fact that they arrived after the darkness settled didn’t help his mood. He had hoped that they would give up the idea of taking the dead animal with them but the recruits dragged the heavy corpse up the slope and through the mountains. He wished they were this resourceful when it came to more serious tasks as well. Nonetheless, they were greeted by the rest with whistles and cheers as they made a last push and brought the bear to the fire camp where they could get busy and turn it into pelt, dinner and trophies. Rylen had been at the end of the line, keeping a fair distance from the cheerful group. He was walking lazily by the Herald’s side, with Solas close by. The man was swinging a familiar metallic pole in his right arm, occasionally sticking it in the ground for support.

When they reached the camp Rylen nodded slightly at the woman and they parted. He went for the requisition tent and Cullen watched her approach a scout. Eventually she was pointed towards Cassandra’s tent and he could guess what her first concern had been. 

Later that evening, after he was debriefed of the situation, he met with Leliana to plan the moves for the days to come. It was a late hour when he left the main tent. The air was biting at his skin and he adjusted his pauldron for protection. The camp was anything but silent. People were still sitting around the fires and the mood was far too spirited considering what they had been through. He looked at the mixed groups gathered around the warmth of the flames and remembered the fights he had to break back in Haven. Right now, no one seemed to care about who was a mage or a Templar, if they were elves or humans. He heard them laugh and joke and let a smile find its way to his lips. The disaster at the Conclave had scattered their differences away, but their survival brought them together. He took in the sight, fully aware that he won’t have the chance to see templars and mages sharing the same food and get along too often.

Rylen was seated on a log, leaning back on the tree behind him, and one of his legs resting on the improvised bench in front of him. He found the position beneficial as he could kick the back of one or two seated recruits when they were getting carried away with their bad humor.

He let out a yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. Slipping one arm under the other he reached for his shoulder, trying to move his tensed muscles. The effort he had to put that day had been ridiculous. But he would rather have had the earth eat him instead of losing face in front of his recruits and the apostate who had been already watching him with amused eyes. He knew that his face must have reddened with effort but the damned pike was out, and his dignity intact. Sure, his muscles were sore but back then it felt like a price worth paying when he met the Herald’s impressed expression. In retrospective, pushing his limits seemed now like a stupid idea and he was convinced that whatever monstrous force the woman possessed, her inner circle was already used with it.

The people around the fire got louder and all he needed to understand what was going on was to hear Rion’s taunting voice. For a mage coming from the circle the boy really had no sense of self-preservation. He was amazed no one had put him in his place yet because of that cocky attitude of his. The boy had no idea how lucky he was to also have charisma working in his favour. Yet, he wished he could be within reach to slap a hand over his head; he didn’t like the fact that Belinda was the current target of his jokes. The young woman was a Templar from Starkhaven; she was sweet and always eager to help but she had problems integrating in a group. He was quite fond of the girl and Rion’s provoking remarks were the last thing she needed.

But there was a Maker. His thoughts were answered when a leather glove flew and hit Rion’s face with precision. Rylen winced, only imagining the smarting feeling. He grinned as the glove fell in the mage’s lap and he looked across the fire for the person he should be thankful to. His grin only got wider when the Herald stopped at the fire, threw a roll of bandages on an empty spot on one of the improvised benches and started to pull at her other glove as well.

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” She was paying attention to her work but she didn’t hide her own grin.

“Yeah, sure... no way to talk to a lady. I’ll remember that when I talk to one.”

The woman stopped and looked up at him with a dangerous smile on her face. 

“Hit him for me, please.”

When the Templar realized the Herald was talking to her, her eyes grew wide.

“Who? Me? No!”

“Do it or I’ll do it and I won’t care if he looks as if wind can lift him from the ground.”

There was laughter around the fire and Rion frowned.

“Ladies don’t hit defenseless mages.” He tried to turn the joke.

“I’ll remember that when I’ll see one.”

Rylen watched as the mage turned to Belinda with big, pleading eyes.

“Be gentle.”

He rolled his eyes when the templar fell for it. She was too kind for her own good. He was convinced he barely felt anything when her fist brushed his arm.

The women shook her head and put a foot on the bench ready to cross and reach the seated mage.

“That is not how you hit a pri-”

“No, no – wait.” The man panicked. “I can hit myself, no need to come over.”

The woman stopped and grinned as the laughter around the fire intensified. Rylen had to give it to the kid. He had a way of talking himself out of danger. Fully dressed in embarrassment, but it was a gift.

The group fell back into the regular story-telling and unsavoury jokes, not bothered that the Herald was there with them. She was busy unbuttoning her shirt but she was listening to their stories, occasionally lifting the head to see who was talking, not shying away from showing her smile at their antics. When she took her coat down and let it fall on the bench Rylen had to grab the thick cloth of his wool jacket and press it against his skin not to shiver. 

He grabbed the mug near him and brought it to his mouth. Whatever he had been drinking it was now cold and lacked any sort of taste. Her hands went for the sleeves of her tunic but her eyes looked up meeting his. 'Course she’d felt watched with the way he was blatantly staring. But he didn’t look away. Why do that anyway? Her lips lined up and the grin was back. _You’re from Starkhaven?_ That had been her first question after he had jumped off the dead animal. _Born an’ raised. Did the accent give me away?_ But she had simply turned around with the same particular grin on her face. _Yes, the accent_ were the only words she returned as if they were meant to mean something more. Wasn’t she from the Free Marches as well? He found nothing impressive about it.

The woman continued to hold his gaze and he'd be damned if he’d look away. What was she about anyway because he was getting a weird tingling sensation in his legs and there wasn’t anything neither blessing nor holy about the way she made him feel. Instinctively his arm went back up again and brought the mug back to his lips, lower enough not to break the contact.  
She continued to lift her sleeves unmoved by his daring stare and he stirred the liquid content in his mouth a few times before swallowing. He could not hold his grin anymore as he lowered the mug on his bent knee. He liked to think he was a man of simple needs. Give him an order and he’d see it done. He was pretty decent with rules as well. His pa’ used to tell him not to leave the working tools lying around so he always put them on top of the line of bricks; what if at times he’d forget them there? At least no one stepped on them and got injured. When he joined the Templars they told him that fraternizing was not allowed within the order – so he found himself a sweetheart… or two on his days off, with permit to leave the barracks. Right now he was in the Inquisition and Cullen had ordered him to keep an eye on the Herald – first as a prisoner and now to make sure that she didn't collect any more injuries. He was, as always, following orders. No one ever told him not to eye-fuck the woman, because there was a heavy amount of that happening right now and if anyone would happen to notice, he could, in his defense, at least say that he had not started it.

He did not however lose track of the conversations around the fire and breathed in, stretching the tension away. The woman lowered her eyes and reached for the discarded roll of bandages, pulling them by one end. They were back to the story of how the Herald had taken down the beast with one hit. They were enjoying the victory too much and he had no doubts than in a few days little of the truth would actually be spread by their mouths.

He joined with a laugh and let one foot slip and lazily hit the ground.

"And yet I had to get the pike out. For all the effort, I see no reward.”

The woman was fastening the bandages around her left hand and up, past her wrist.

“I was not aware there was a contest.”

“You say that now but you were quite entertained by the display my men put together.”

Those full lips parted slightly and found each other again in a coy smile.

“Well then, I am sorry to disappoint but the Trevelyan coffers, as full as they might be, are not open for me and the best blades that I had are now lost somewhere in the rubble of Haven. I am afraid that currently I have nothing to offer besides the clothes on me…" her gaze was back on him. “if you are interested.”

The laughter around the fire only intensified and a few jokes were passed between the men gathered there. He let out his own snigger and wondered if the woman cared at all if he’d get skinned alive by playing along.

“Doubt any of that would fit me and I don’t suppose it’d keep me warm at night.”

“Are we still talking about the clothes?”

Maker, he was prepared to let out a healthy, boisterous laugher for the woman was as subtle as a charging druffalo but the sight of Mother Giselle approaching them cut his drive. The cleric asked for the Herald’s attention and reluctantly the woman pushed herself away from the bench. He wasn’t going to gloat but she was in trouble. When the Revered Mother threw him a disapproving look he knew that his lecture would also come. But right now he’d rather enjoy the bravery with which the noble was dismissing the woman’s pieces of advice. There was word going around that the Herald was not an Andrastian; and it was obvious that she had little patience for the Chantry. His eyes went past the two women to check on his Commander. He had caught sight of him a while back when he left one of the tents. He had watched with amusement as Flissa, the young woman from the tavern in Haven, had stopped him and without hesitation grabbed the tall man, and shoved him at one of the tables near the tents where they kept the food and provisions. As tiny as she was compared to the Commander, she had not been intimidated at all by his protests and presented him with a plate of warm stew, a piece of bread and something to drink. Now he was alone, and looking rather grateful for the silence, if not a bit lost. Rylen stole one more glance at the Herald and his attention went back to the Commander. He put his other foot down and decided to go greet his superior. He was in no way trying to avoid a conversation with Mother Giselle since he was sure she would make time for him as well. But ‘later' seemed a better option than ‘now’.

He made his way to the tent and passed the back of his gloved hand along his chin.

“Commander.” He greeted and the man looked up. He let go of the piece of bread he had been turning between his fingers and returned the gesture, with honest surprise in the tone of his voice.

“Rylen.”

“The cook could have been more generous with the salt but I guess we can’t really complain.” He nodded at the empty plate and the man laughed.

“I didn’t realize I was hungry until I was mercilessly ordered to eat.”

Rylen grabbed a whetstone from the fire nearby and took his sword out. He rested one foot on a crate and started to tend to his weapon.

“Not a lot of people would dare to handle the Commander of the Inquisition the way Flissa did.” He joked, letting him know that he had witnessed the scene, “She certainly has a way of dealing with people. Guess it’s something that only an innkeeper can pull off. We’re lucky to have her around.”

The man nodded, his attention back to the plate in front of him.

“Word also goes that she has a soft spot for you, Ser.”

“Oh please, Rylen. The last thing I need is losing you to unseemly rumors as well.”

He grinned, content to have stirred a reaction from the man.

“So Commander, what are the plans?”

Cullen straightened his back.

“The next days should be easy. We discussed to take the convoy down in the valley. We’ll cover as much as possible from the distance that way and maybe find a village or two for supplies. Once we get back in the mountains there is no turning back and by the looks of it the ascension will not be kind. No one knows of any possible path through them so we either find it, if there is even one, or we make it ourselves.”

“I look forward to blowing holes into mountains.”

The commander frowned.

“I certainly hope it won’t come to that.”

There was a moment of silence which they shared before Cullen got up from the table. He stepped right outside of the tent and looked towards the campfires, concern keeping his eyebrows lined together.

“What was that earlier with Mother Giselle? Is everything alright?” Rylen looked up at the two women but didn’t really bother to stop from what he was doing; they were still at it.

“Yeah, nothing to sweat over.” He considered his choice of words and grinned. “Mother Giselle may be giving our Herald a hard time, but her intentions are good.”

He watched the man sigh.

“Well, it would help everyone if lady Trevelyan would be less acid towards the clerics.”

He glanced up at him and shook his head in amusement.

“I remember Sister Nightingale saying something similar about you, Ser.”

Cullen met his eyes.

“It was completely a different matter. Chancellor Roderick was a constant pain in our ribs. He only knew how to bark in disapproval.”

But they both stopped, remembering the man’s last deeds. If it hadn't been for him, they might not even have made it out of Haven. “And we were ignorant for tossing him around unnecessarily.” Rylen let the man to his thoughts, none of the two feeling like chatting at the moment. It was easy to move on but they had yet to pay their respects and properly acknowledge those they had lost in the attack.

Eventually Cullen was the first to open a conversation.

“Rylen. I have been discussing certain matters with Seeker Cassandra this evening and I wanted your input as well, if possible.”

“On what, Commander?”

He tossed a look his way; a familiar way in which he used to warn him to drop the title when it was just the two of them. Cautiously he returned his attention ahead of him.

“What is your opinion on the Herald?”

The man stopped for a moment from what he was doing and after a moment more of consideration, thrust the stone on the length of the blade and blew the dust away.

“It depends on what version you’re interested in.”

The Commander frowned.

“That was not the sort of answer I was expecting.”

Rylen chuckled and got himself in a standing position. 

“I guess… I am looking for an honest opinion? What do the men make of her?”

“Ah yes…” In a few strides he was by his superior’s side. Rylen himself was a tall man and yet he didn’t quite match the Commander’s height. He let his eyes roam in the same direction. “Things are simpler than you’d imagine.” He spun the hilt of the sword in his hand. “She’s the Herald and all that, and people gape at her miracles, yet all it needs is for the wind to blow in the other direction and she’s back to being a heretic. But our men… sure, they fight under the Inquisition's banner but I’ve been out with them enough to see what goes through their minds. The woman fought side by side with them; they saw a noble share the same food with them in the camps and a prophet do much more than preach; she crossed the Mires and fought her way to rescue some poor soldiers. I guess I have an idea or two of why you’re asking what you’re asking. These men read your orders and are ready to fight but I’ve noticed where their heads turn for acknowledgment. They saw her take hits for them and they are ready to do no less for her.”

Cullen didn’t say anything and Rylen was reminded of the reason why he had taken his offer and left the Order for the Inquisition. The ex-Templar was still young in age but that was about everything that was left of his youth. The price the man had had to pay to become the leader figure he was now had left visible scars, both physical and in the way he carried himself. His calculating eyes and thorough mind earned him the respect of people both older and more experienced than he was. Cullen had Rylen’s complete trust when it came to decisions but he doubted the man was aware of that.

“You should spend more time with them out there, Cullen. You’d see how comfortable they feel around her. Not everyone believes that she’s sent by the Maker. Faith comes and goes, but she has their trust. You want to know if they would follow her into battle? They already are.”

It was all they needed for a while. Cullen kept to his thoughts and Rylen looked back down at the weapon in his hands. He passed a finger down the blade, to feel the steel.

“Do you believe it?” But there was a shift in his voice and it only meant that the curiosity was past his interest as a commander. “That she could be holy?”

It all came back to faith, didn’t it? He cleared his throat as if something uncomfortable has clogged its way there.

“Are you still looking for an honest answer?”

Cullen was brought back from his distant thoughts and eyed his second in command with calculated doubt.

“What sort of question is that? Should I be concerned over where this conversation is going?”

“Not really.” He let out a short laughter. “You want to know what the general belief is about the entire ‘herald’ thing. I am simply not convinced my answer could be relevant to you in any way, Commander.”

Cullen sighed and returned his attention to the people gathered around the fires.

“Humor me.”

He was not sure if he had said that to offer the man the possibility to freely speak his mind or if he had actually challenged him to do so. He questioned the level of maturity in both of them. Considering the humor in Rylen’s voice, the man had picked the latter.

“The woman says she has nothing to do with Andraste – not my place to tell her any different. The way I see it, whatever that mark on her hand is – divine intervention or a different sort of magic – it closes rifts and keeps demons from raining on us. I am happy with that; no need to go digging for headaches.” 

The answer had been surprisingly balanced compared with what Cullen had expected.

“Maybe she’s holy, what do I know? But with all due respect, there is nothing holy about the way that woman looks.”

And there he felt his blood freeze. Rylen would have laughed at how horrified the man looked as his arms dropped by his side and turned to him. But he knew better.

“I am sorry?”

“Should I repeat that, Commander?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“No, thank you. I heard it clearly.”

“You asked for an honest opinion.” Was his tacky excuse but they both knew he was not sorry.

Cullen frowned but there was a twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Sincerity appreciated.” His eyes measured the man whom he was also lucky to call a friend. “But at times you should consider using some filters when you express your opinions. There was certainly some information there that I could have perfectly lived without.”

Rylen breathed a laughter and his grin lingered.

“You are a decent guy, commander. But you are neither blind nor a fool. You can’t possibly tell me that you haven’t addressed her and, at least once, your mind didn’t wander lower than her eyes.”

“Maker, Rylen! Must I really spell it as an order to make you stop?”

He let out another huffed laugher and tilted his head to glance at the woman in the distance.

“I meant her lips. Nobles have this thing about them –they are taught to articulate words and speak properly and clearly. When she speaks, if you don’t focus on the words you start wondering what else those full lips can do.”

A wave of shame, that he knew he should not feel responsible for, washed over Cullen and more out of desperation than authority he raised his voice.

“Rylen! That is your Herald you are talking about, for Andraste’s sake!"

He had done it on purpose. Cullen was always acting too serious and it wasn’t all too healthy. Getting a powerful reaction out of the man was worth the price. With a shake of his head he returned his attention to the sword. He balanced it in his grip one more time before putting it back in its sheath.

“Yeah, and Andraste was the Maker’s bride. That didn’t stop her from physical activities… that’s all that I am saying.”

Rylen was in a way proud of himself. They needed that; with all the shit that they had been through, he needed to know that they hadn't been beaten up by it. If the Inquisition was ready for a change, he was ready for it. They needed a strong hand at the top, that much was obvious. It was risky, but victory rarely came to those who’d not push when presented with the chance.

He looked back up and wanted to announce his retreat for the night but his words died and out of respect he did his best not to laugh. Ah yes, he was proud of himself. The largest grin reached his mouth at the sight of the Commander’s red ears. He reminded him of his older brother when they were kids and he was caught peeping at the smith’s daughter taking a bath in the river. His mouth went ahead of his better judgment.

“You’re thinking it, aren’t you?”

The way Cullen glared at him would have burned a man alive. But it only sent his second in command into a fit of laugher.

He raised his hand and patted the man on the shoulder on his way to his tent.

“You’re welcome, Commander.”

Cullen grabbed the bridge of his nose and sighed away Rylen’s bad sense of humour. However, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling under his glove. The man had a mouth.

“I expect no complains the next time you will be dispatched to some Maker forgotten place.”

Without turning, Rylen offered his answer, loud enough to reach him.

“After the Mires, I think I am fine with anything.”

His bravery was unfortunately received as a challenge.

With a last shake of the head he took his time to get back to the table and grab the sword he had previously left against one of the wooden legs. He grabbed it by the leather sheath and considered how he’d soon need to talk to someone and have it replaced.

“Commander.”

He must have jumped or at the very least startled at the voice because as he turned, the Trevelyan just went past him, inside the opened tent, eyeing him suspiciously. He cursed for not feeling her approach.

“My lady Herald.” The man nodded and proceeded to strap the sword back by his belt.

She spun on her heels and searched for his eyes.

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” But she waited for no answer as she started to lift the lids from some crates, clearly looking for something in particular. “Out of curiosity, do you even know my given name?” Her arms reached out and grabbed a dark, dusty bottle.

He had read her name in Leliana’s reports on her back in Haven, of course. They had little information on her but seemed to cover up everything they needed.

“Jesebel.”

With interest he watched her tense and her eyebrows furrow. She focused back at him, deciding for a moment what to do of it. He could not blame her, as the name fell strange and heavy at the tip of his tongue. It made him feel uncomfortable.

“Lady Trevelyan should be fine from now on.”

Of course it would be Lady Trevelyan. Peculiarly enough he was relieved to have her agree on that. Notably, he remembered how he had been simply Rutherford for her earlier that day. And why the Maker was he fumbling over formalities in his own head? The other relevant question arose when she pulled the cork from the bottle and smelled the content.

“Is that wine?”

The woman grinned.

“At least it smells like it. It’s funny the things people grabbed in their hurry from Haven.”

He followed her as she placed the bottle on the table. The woman grabbed a metallic jug and went through some pouches, occasionally smelling or shaking them. She went even further into the back of the tent, pocking and digging through crates and sacks.

“What are you looking for?”

“Honey. I am sure they have some. I heard two of the villagers talking about our supplies.”

He said nothing. In fact he realized he had forgotten his intentions of leaving as he followed her around with his eyes. The woman disappeared behind a wall of those crates. Was she … humming? He had never pictured her as the type. His attention went to the bottle of wine on the table.

“What do you need these for?”

She emerged victorious and in two large jumps over some fallen sacks she was back with an almost empty jar of honey. He watched her pour wine in the jug and add a few spices. 

“Dorian is one breath away from a cold. He’s almost high with herbal medicine but his throat still feels like he has been eating thistles. I’m making something to help with that; the man is more sensitive than a flower.” A huffed laughter escaped her lips. “I can’t believe he actually spent days on his own, camping around Ferelden.”

Cullen realized for the first time why he felt out of place. He could not remember the woman talking to him so relaxed and detached. Unrelated, he also noted her bare hands, only covered by bandages that were running up to her elbows.

“And wine will help him.” There was clear sarcasm in his voice and it was in the right amount.

“The herbs and honey will help. The wine is only a good combination.”

She took the lid from the honey jar and in an almost barbaric fashion she dug two of her fingers inside, making sure to gather everything from the inner walls and have it leak into the jug until there was nothing left. He opened his mouth to make an observation but his mind went blank when the woman shoved the two fingers past her lips, having them disappear almost completely. He felt the blood rise to his head as he couldn’t convince his eye to look away from her slow gesture and ignore the sound her plump lips made as they released the fingers.

He swallowed. And felt like a fool. This was only partially his fault. He thanked the Maker he controlled the urge to clear his throat as he turned, doing his best to feign interest in nothing in particular. Rylen was so lucky not to be there because he had half a mind to send him to keep guard for the rest of the night. 

The woman grabbed the knife he had not used from the table and stirred until she was sure that the honey had melted. She stepped away to hang the jug on the hook above the fire just outside the tent. She looked past her shoulder at the man, thankfully unaware of his recent trail of thoughts. It was one thing to make jokes out of people's features but he felt guilty towards her. She tugged at the bandages on her palms while waiting for the wine. 

“How are your arms?”

“Better. I had them wrapped to keep the muscles tensed and avoid unnecessary shaking.”

“You’re recovering fast. The fight from Haven is barely days away.”

“My everything still hurts like a bitch if that’s what you’re wondering. I just breathe most of it away.”

His eyes skipped up at her bruised jaw. Her dark skin was hiding most of the injuries. There was an old scar across her lips and a golden tattoo at the corner of her eye. He never paid special attention to it, but taking in her profile he noticed the tiny, caved scars that were under the tattoo. He knew there was another scar under her right eye, to which he could not have access from his current position. He also knew that occasionally the woman would pass her fingers over it. As if he could have summoned the gesture, she lifted her hand and absentmindedly wiped the scar with the side of her fingers.

“You’re in a good mood.” He announced his observation in an attempt to kill the awkward silence.

“I am…” He did not expect the woman to smile. “We’ll make it.”

He frowned. While it was true that they barely crossed paths occasionally, he wondered if there would be a day in which her reactions and words would stop finding him unprepared.

“And confident.”

The woman didn’t turn but glanced at him from the corner of her eye with an unreadable expression.

“Unwillingness doesn’t affect my confidence.” He waited for her to continue. “Do I wish to be somewhere else other than in this mess? Of course I do. But I don’t dwell on what ifs. I will have my answers.” She brought her left hand up. The mark was covered by the bandages and it was dormant. He could see the edge of what now could be mistaken for a scar.

“Aren’t you even a bit scared of all this?”

She sneered.

“It’s a bit too late to be scared. I know my enemy now. I know what Corypheus is and what he is not. It’s all I need to take him down.”

He looked at the woman and didn’t know if he should feel admiration or concern. He was concerned that he was hearing empty promises; he was concerned that he was ready to offer great power to someone he barely knew. She … was so much more that he had ever imagined from the day he learnt that there was a survivor of the disaster at the Conclave. The woman had walked out of the Fade! That alone should be all the evidence he needed.

The smell of mulled wine reached them and the woman turned towards the fire. He looked around for some sort of cloth she could use on the hot jug but remained petrified as the noble went bare hand for the metallic container. She grabbed the edge with her thumb and two fingers and darted towards a wooden mug. In one go she poured the wine and discarded the jug. She brought her fingers to her mouth and blew on them as if it was nothing.

“How – ”

She took the mug in her left hand and returned to him, waving her other hand to cool off. When she was next to him she smiled at his expression.

“It’s not that bad if you focus on it. It’s just a control trick.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Also, most of the nerves in my right hand are long fried.” Instead of using more words she extended her hand as an explanation.

He stepped closer to have a better look in the light that the nearby fire was offering. Because of the bandages he could only see the fingers and half of the palm but it was enough for him to notice the difference in tone. What unsettled him was that he could not find any of the usually small grooves that any palm had. The skin was perfectly smooth, looking as if a layer had been peeled off. The skin was stretched where the fingers met the hills of her palm and the space between her pointing and middle fingers looked as if it had been melted. He wondered how it would feel to the touch. The scars looked to be years old.

“How did it happen?”

Her smile didn’t leave and she sounded almost proud.

“Playing with fire would be too much of a bad joke?”

“Conventionally, yes.”

“I crossed some angry folks. People get very inventive with torture when they want answers.”

He failed to see the humorous part in her story. A dozen questions were at the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know which one he could ask; a question that the woman would answer without further evasion.

“For a noble, your life doesn’t sound that dull.”

“For a templar, you are quite observant.”

“Ex-templar.” He let those words out but he didn’t find any motivation to actually be bothered by her anymore. Her attacks were getting old and weren’t worth any effort.

“We need to work on your reactions, Commander. I was expecting more passion. You’re becoming quite dull.”

“Perfect; I was going for that.”

She retracted her hand with a fluid gesture.

“I don’t like you very much. You’re confusing me.”

However her words didn’t match the smile on her lips.

The woman stepped away. He was left there standing at the mouth of the tent. He begged to differ. For all that he knew all his life he had been quite a direct and predictable person. He refused to think that she had really meant that.

“For the sake of closure – about your story? Did these people get what they wanted?”

She started to make her way back to the campfire.

“Yes. The Qun can be extremely convincing. I am standing here now, am I not?”

He didn’t know how to feel about any of that information.

“That’s not how it ended, is it?”

The woman did not stop, but looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

“Of course not; I snapped their necks after.” 

Her last words made him feel slightly uncomfortable but at the very least, they made more sense. 

As he turned her story in his head, his eyes followed the woman absentmindedly. The noble found her way back to one of the campfires, behind the seated Tevinter mage. She slipped the mug in his hands and no words were exchanged, just secretive smiles. Before leaving for his tent, he glanced one last time at the towering woman and pushed aside from his mind the way in which her imposing figure was in perfect harmony with the tenders gestures through which her hands were paying attention to the mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ;) Hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is much appreciated!!! Anything that crosses your mind or would like to see. Till next time!


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